


Panic! at the Picnic

by alexjanna91



Series: Dean Winchester, Patron Saint (Apple Pie Life) [10]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angels, BAMF Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester Has Powers, Gen, Original Character(s), Parental Dean Winchester, Protective Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-25
Updated: 2018-04-25
Packaged: 2019-04-27 13:40:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14426586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexjanna91/pseuds/alexjanna91
Summary: Picnics are supposed to be a fun and relaxing time in the sun. They are not supposed to come with the threat of imprisonment or death. But this is Dean Winchester's life. Little brothers and Angels are two of his responsibilities that he won't just ignore.





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> Some of the original characters mentioned in this story were introduced in the prequal arc [Adventures in Babysitting](https://archiveofourown.org/series/36906). You might want to reread [Napalm in the Morning](https://archiveofourown.org/works/691989) and [Rock Salt 101](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2114664) to refresh your memory.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Being shanghaied into hosting a picnic in the park was a pain in his ass and Dean made sure everyone knew it. But one thing he wouldn’t ever complain about was a little brother in pain.

*

Bobby stared at the crumbling papyrus sheets before him. It had taken him weeks to track it down once he’d finally figured out what it was what he was looking for. The entire thing was written in Aramaic, the author was probably a highly educated man because the whole thing was almost illegible the calligraphy was so intricate. On a good day modern American English calligraphy was a pain in the ass to read. At three in the morning, on two thousand year old paper, in faded ink, in a three-thousand year old archaic language it was almost literally impossible to decipher. 

Good thing Bobby had a knack for languages and could speak and-or read and write roughly twenty different dialects, modern and ancient included. 

Still, the paper was delicate ancient papyrus, the ink was made of pigment and sulfate and iron salt, and the syntax wasn’t reader friendly. It was filled with all kinds of metaphors and flowery language. It was taking everything Bobby had not to just throw the priceless manuscript across the room in frustration. 

Just giving it up as a bad job and quitting wasn’t an option though. He was putting himself through this torture for his boy; for Dean. 

Ever since he’d spent that weekend with Dean getting bailed out of the clink, extorting a demon to get his soul back, and patching up a mauled angel, Bobby had been on the hunt for answers. Answers to what was going on with Dean. What new kind of trouble had the idjit gotten himself into now. 

The sky was lightening to gray, dew was gathering on the ground, and somewhere someone’s rooster was making a nuisance of itself.

And Bobby had finally finished deciphering the text. Deciphered it and was duly incredulously horrified. 

“Balls!” Only a Winchester, he thought beleaguered, only a Winchester would get himself into this kind of a mess. 

He barely spared the two and a half minutes to pack a duffle, lock up the house, and slam the door closed on his Chevrolet before he peeled out of the driveway and made a beeline for Indiana.

*

Dean wasn’t quite sure how it happened but somewhere between Lisa casually mentioned it, Laurie Grant pinning him with that predatory grin, Madison Strait teasingly pleading, and Jenny Meyer’s shy encouragement, he’d been conned into organizing a neighborhood picnic. 

And conned he was, because there was no way in Hell he would have willingly put himself through this voluntarily. He thought planning a little kid’s birthday was a pain in the ass. That had nothing on this shit. 

Of course it didn’t help that Dean was actually stressed about everything going off without a hitch. 

“You packed the veggie burgers in the cooler too, right? And the wine coolers? Cups! Shit, I forgot the fucking cups! Ben! Ben, run back home and get the cups!”

“Dean!” Lisa was trying and failing to hide her amusement at Dean’s pain. “You checked on the veggie burgers twice already, the wine coolers are in your hand, and the plastic cups are on the table over there.” She grinned at him and patted him on the shoulder. “You got this. Everything’s gonna be fine.” 

Bewildered, Dean looked from the six pack of wine coolers in his hand to the jumbo pack of red cups on the picnic table then back to Lisa. 

“I’ve gone native. Oh God. Lisa, I’m willingly holding fucking wine coolers.” He sounded a little hysterical even to himself. “Kill me, now. Put me out of my misery.” 

Lisa rolled her eyes and pried the six pack from his white knuckled grip. “Stop being a drama queen. Go over there and play with Ben and Errol. Dana, Rosa and I will finish setting up. Everyone else will start arriving soon.”

Dean sighed and took a steadying breath then straightened, determined. He may have been half domesticated, but damned if he was going to let suburban life get the better of him. Nodding with resolve, he marched off toward where Ben and Errol were kicking a soccer ball back and forth. 

“Hey! Room for one more?”

Shaking her head in amusement, Lisa made sure Dean was fully preoccupied with the boys then turned back to getting the grill set up. 

Thirty minutes later it seemed like pretty much everyone Dean knew in this new life was milling around in the neighborhood park. All of them sipping on beer and wine coolers and munching on hotdogs, hamburgers, and veggie monstrosities. Dean had practically chugged his first beer to take the nervous edge off and was now nursing his second. He was relaxed and finishing off his first of many hotdogs while talking football with a few of his kids’ dads. Frank Grant, Carry and Hugh’s dad, Joshua Braunston, Michael and Daniel’s dad, and, surprisingly, Sunny’s dad, Sycamore Taurus Smith.

Dean had a hard time checking his expression when they’d been introduced. Dude matched Sunny’s mom perfectly; tie-dye t-shirt, well-worn Birkenstocks, and shaggy hair halfway down his shoulders. Dean could tell Frank and Joshua were having a hard time not staring at the guy’s flower earring too. 

The picnic seemed to be a relative success. Everyone was fed, watered, and socializing comfortably. The kids were all switching between kicking the ball around and crowding around the chicken wire playpen holding Errol’s mini T-rex. The soccer was good exercise for them and watching Errol feed the T-rex was sort of educational. 

Dean was taking a breather to get himself another beer, a handful of Lays and just watch the gathering with a measure of satisfaction. His people were safe and happy and enjoying themselves. He stopped trying to deny that he’d pretty much collected what seemed like half of Cicero into his list of people to protect. They, the kids and their parents, were his. His to protect, watch over, and, if need be, kill for. 

Predictably, the first hitch of the day came when Dean’s angels suddenly showed up en-masse. 

Alfie in his Weiner hut uniform, Hester in her business suit, Inias in his Rolling Stones t-shirt, and Rachel in her forbidding librarian frump. 

Dean blinked and was blinded by their sky scraper sized true forms; wings like forces of nature, faces of God’s creatures, and burning gold rings in all. He blinked again and saw his nerdy angels once again. Resigned to his random episodes of freakiness, he just sighed, pinched his nose then shook off the lingering buzz in his blood he got every vision. 

With his second blink the angels had become visible and the kids spotted them almost immediately. The angels’ eyes were big and slightly panicked when they were bum rushed by all eighteen of Dean’s kids at once. 

“Dean!” Ben yelled across the party garnering the attention of the rest of the adults milling around. “Hey, Dean, look! They came!” 

Dean shook his head, both amused and long suffering. Waving off Lisa’s raised eyebrow, he made his way over to the angels and smiled genuinely at them. 

“I didn’t think you guys would show up.” 

Alfie patted Todd on the head kindly and turned his eager smile on Dean. “Heaven is at a stalemate and Castiel graced us leave to attend your celebration of communal nature reserves and cooked meat.”

Chuckling, Dean grinned. “It called a barbeque in the park. Or picnic if that’s too complicated for you.”

“Picnic.” Alfie tasted the word then nodded to himself, satisfied. Next to him Hester mouthed the word just as seriously, a wrinkle of concentration on her brow. “I shall remember that.”

“Don’t worry about.” Dean shrugged then gestured toward the food and drink tables. “Help yourselves. Mingle, talk to some of the adults, try to have some fun.” 

Alfie, Inias, and Hester all wandered off into the crowd of curious people willingly, if a little apprehensively, following their self-appointed child tour guides. Except for Rachel who had gently but firmly shooed away the kids that tried to tug her along. 

“Not gonna join in the fun?” Dean drawled, earning a mild glare. “I’m surprised you showed up.”

“Castiel ordered that I accompany my brothers and sister to this ‘picnic’. He has decided that I need more ‘human socialization’.” She pursed her lips like the words tasted bitter just coming out of her mouth.

Dean magnanimously decided not to needle her or comment on the implied finger quotes. “Well, since you’re here, let me introduce to one of my kids’ mom.” He ushered the sour faced angel toward a longhaired, Birkenstock clad, flowy skirt wearing Starshine Buttercup Smith, Sunny’s mom.

“Starshine, I’d like you to meet a friend of mine.” He smiled winningly at the fluttery woman and tugged a scowling Rachel forward. “Rachel, Starshine. Starshine, Rachel.”

Starshine smiled brightly and grabbed the angel’s stiff hand holding it gently and staring at Rachel in wonder. “I must say, dear, you have the most stunning aura. Almost as beautiful as my Sunflower’s.”

Rachel’s eyes widened and Dean grinned a little gleefully at the hint of fear flashing through them. “That might be because Rachel here is an Angel of the Lord.” Rachel darted a panicked look at Dean, but he just kept on grinning.

Starshine gasped and gripped Rachel’s hand tighter in excitement. “Oh! How wonderful! I’ve never met an angel before.”

“Rachel was just telling me how curious she was about the positive energies and auras here on Earth,” Dean said, mischievousness dripping from his tone. “You see, she doesn’t come down here very often and she’s never had the chance to really get a feel for them.” 

Starshine looked positively aghast. Then her kind face melted into sympathy and determination. “Don’t worry, sweetie. Come with me. I will teach you all about them.” 

The enthusiastic woman started towing the truly terrified angel off into the crowd. Rachel looked back at Dean her expression part pleading part death glare. Dean just smirked, chuckling to himself as he took a satisfied drink of his beer. 

For the next twenty minutes Dean enjoyed himself observing the various reactions his parents had to his angels. The parents of his original afterschool kids seemed to be trying to roll with the weird uncomfortably earnest and curious people their kids were dragging around. The parents of his self-defense kids were a little more freaked out, but were taking their cues from the other adults. It seemed to reassure them that Lisa, Dean, Jeffery Hart, Ashley Boltz, and their kids were comfortable if awkward with the new arrivals. 

Of course, because he was a Winchester and nothing in his life could be that simple, Dean didn’t get to enjoy it for very long because Shelly St. James came up to him with a handsome, young, well-built man just radiating law enforcement following along behind her. 

A quick questioning look toward Jeff he got a frown and a shake of the head then Dean put his attention on the two coming to a stop in front of him. 

“Hey, Shelly,” Dean smiled casually. “How ya’ liking the picnic so far?”

The woman gave him her usual stiff, but friendly smile. “It’s fun. You’ve done a surprisingly good job organizing a get together like this.”

Huffing in exasperation and mild fondness at the backhanded compliment, Dean just nodded magnanimously. “Thanks, I try.”

“I’m sure,” she returned, then gestured to the young man beside her. He’d been quiet up ‘til then, just observing their interaction. “This is my younger brother, Owen. I’ve wanted to introduce you two and he’s been curious to meet you after I told him about your self-defense class.” 

Dean locked gazes with the brother, Owen. The brother that, if he wasn’t mistaken, worked for the freaking _FBI_. If Shelly wasn’t being completely genuine and innocent with her introduction, Dean would have cursed her silently and vehemently. But he knew Shelly actually liked him; was grateful to him for pulling her son out of his shell, for reminding her that it was okay to keep living despite fear for a loved one.

She had no idea she’d just introduced a dead suspected serial killer to her federal agent little brother. 

Dean grinned and held his hand out for a shake. “Nice to meet you. Shelly’s mentioned you a couple of times.” 

The brother, Owen, grasped his hand, squeezed, and held on, his gaze boring into Dean’s. “You too. Shelly’s told me quite a bit about you.” Something in his tone made the hairs on the back of Dean’s neck stand on end. 

“All good things I hope.” Dean’s charming, harmless suburban smile was steady, unwavering. He’d had practice, after all, with lying to law enforcement. 

Owen hummed noncommittally. He had yet to let go of Dean’s hand. “Nathan hasn’t stopped talking about you.”

Dean’s smiled turned more genuine with the mention of his kid. Nathan -quiet, serious Nathan- was awesome and Dean loved every minute with him. 

“Nathan’s a good kid. He’s a joy to have around.” 

Owen had started to squeeze Dean’s hand progressively harder, staring at him intently. Dean just knew he wasn’t going to like it when the guy opened his mouth again. 

“You know, I swear I’ve seen you somewhere before.” 

Dean met his gaze head on and in the space of a breath knew Owen almost better than he knew himself. 

He was in pain. Physical, emotional pain. Kept quiet, well hidden, but still very much filling him up inside. 

Owen and his partner had been working on that case for months. Their informants hadn’t been panning out, their information had been faulty, and somewhere they just knew there was a leak. Months of all-nighters, crappy takeout, crappy all night stakeouts, reexamining the bodies and the evidence and knowing, just _knowing_ , this asshole had done it, that he was the key to taking down the whole operation. 

Finally, solid lead, solid intel, solid strategy for the take down. All their ducks were in a row. The tac team was ready, Owen and his partner were suited up and eager and so very proud of themselves. 

It was a trap. The operation was a complete failure. The asshole and all his cohorts got away. Almost no one came out unscathed. They lost three agents. Owen’s partner from the moment they’d stepped out of training being one of them. Dead. Shot three times covering Owen’s bloody, injured retreat.

It hurt. Oh, it hurt so much. His partner, loved like a brother, gone. Guilt, holy hell, the guilt. It was hard to breathe through it. Feeling the utter failure for the shit case, sure. But missing his brother, wishing to trade places, guilty and in agony from losing him and being the reason. The jumping at shadows, crying out with nightmares, and split second flashbacks, were nothing. Nothing compared to the agony. 

Dean blinked, back to himself in a heartbeat, and met Owen’s suspicion with a bland smile. “I just have one of those faces. You’d be surprised how often I get that.” _I am not the criminal you are looking for._

A confused expression disrupted Owen’s perusal of Dean’s features and he finally released their handshake. 

“Yeah,” Owen nodded and absently continued, “I guess that must be it.”

“Shelly said you wanted to ask me about the self-defense class,” Dean reminded him, keeping the conversation going, drawing attention somewhere else lest Owen can’t quite place Dean again. 

“Nathan’s been showing me some of the moves you taught him. Gotta say, I’m impressed.” 

Spinning tales and lies and half-truths, misdirecting attention by pulling shit out of his ass was something Dean could do in his sleep. Also something he could do while busy studying the agonized, gelatinous mess of trauma and toxic emotions clogging up Owen’s chest. 

Effortlessly multitasking, Dean kept their conversation going while he looked at the shapeless jello mold inside Owen. It was deep shades of rusty red, spikey splotches of black, occasionally shot through with a bruised dark purple color. It flinched like it was being jabbed with a hot poker, quivered off and on like it was scared, and its entire form pulsed sluggishly and reluctantly in rhythm with Owen’s heartbeat.

Owen was a little brother, not Dean’s, but one all the same. Little brothers were one of his specialties. Even though his own little brother was far beyond his reach, that didn’t mean he could let anyone else’s suffer like this. If there was one thing in this world Dean knew better than hunting, it was little brothers. He’s got this. He knows exactly what to do.

For the first time since he’d noticed his freaky heaven powers, Dean reached inside himself, grabbed ahold, and directed them with his own will. 

Dean distracted Owen with bullshit crafted on the fly while he wrapped his “magic” hands around the painful, messy blob choking the life out of him. He dug his fingers in, pulled the mess this way and that like toffy. The first thing his fingers massaged out of the sticky gelatinous knot of Owen’s pain was the bright, vivid, overwhelming memory of the firefight that started growing this mess. 

There wasn’t any way to erase the memory and Dean wouldn’t anyway. He’d had people mess with his mind and memories before. He wasn’t doing that to anyone else. No, Dean just kneaded and folded and worked Owen’s play-doh lump of trauma until the memories were shadowy. Distant, dull memories; still there, still a part of him, but no longer a risk of waking him up in a cold sweat in the middle of the night, of sending him into a flashback that leaves him shaking and shivering and crying. 

Dean got Owen to talk about his interest in martial arts and his training at Quantico while he rolled the gelatin goop of pain into a ball between the warm palms of his “hands”. Over and over, Dean rolled the awkward, uneven, lumpy ball in rhythmic continuous motions slowly but smoothing out the stiff jagged edges of Owen’s guilt. Guilt at failing, guilt at letting the bad guy get away; massive, sharp, pointy chunks of guilt that his partner died protecting him. Over and over Dean rolled until the gelatin goop was smooth and perfectly round and Owen had accepted that it wasn’t his fault. That he may still feel the guilt, but it was a shade, easily dismissed with rational logic and acceptance. 

Maybe, perhaps the most concentrated and involved bit yet, Dean was gearing up to deal with the sickly black-gray pervasive stain of grief covering the perfectly spherical jello-y sphere of emotion. 

Dean had always worked on instinct and instinct had never steered him wrong. 

“Owen,” Dean cradled the weight of the gelatinous sphere in his palms comfortingly. “You mentioned your buddy from the academy. He was your partner, right? What was he like?”

Shelly made a choked protesting sound in the back of her throat, but Dean was giving his whole attention to staring into Owen’s eyes and holding his fragile, but resilient emotions safely in his hands. 

Owen didn’t want to talk about his partner, his friend, his almost-brother, but he needed to. He needed to and strangely enough he wanted to talk about him with Dean. 

“Rob was the first guy I met at the academy. He was such an asshole, but after the first day I couldn’t get rid of him.” The words came fast and smooth after that. Owen talked, Dean listened, and the palms of his magic hands heated up hotter and hotter until the black stained gelatin sphere started melting. Owen kept talking and Dean’s hands continued heating until there was nothing left of Owen’s play-doh glob of painful emotions in them except gritty black clumpy granules sticking to Dean’s skin. 

The jello had soaked back into Owen’s chest clean and healed and stable, settling into him smoothly; no longer clogging him up, no longer choking him ‘til he can’t breathe. 

Wiping the grittiness from his palms onto his jeans, Dean smiled genuinely at Owen. “Sounds like he was a cool dude.” 

Moving through the natural wave of emotion inside him, Owen didn’t feel like grief was going to drown him. He was able to smile and feel the love he had for Rob again. “Yeah, he was one of a kind.” 

Dean was distantly aware of Shelly staring at her brother with amazed disbelieving tears in her eyes. Right before her, in the span of a five minute conversation, Dean had done what no one, FBI counselors, private therapists, their mother, or she herself had been unable to do. The pain and stress had fallen away from Owen right before her eyes and just like that she had her little brother back.

“Well, it was good talking to you, dude. We’ll have to discuss more ideas for another self-defense class later.” Dean grinned, satisfied and strangely at peace. And because he’s an overachiever, he clapped a friendly hand on Owen’s shoulder still aching from the gunshot wound and gave it a squeeze. 

The low level throbbing pain he’d been learning to live with was suddenly gone in a split second wash of heat. Owen blinked confused at Dean’s hand on his shoulder, but was quickly distracted by Dean’s exiting from the conversation. 

“Uh, yeah. Totally. Sounds good.” Owen absently shook Dean’s hand again.

Dean flashed him one last grin and turned to leave. 

“Hey, wait!” He paused and looked back at Owen’s call. “I swear I’ve seen you somewhere before. Are you sure we haven’t met?”

And because he liked to live dangerously, Dean smirked at the lightly frowning young FBI agent and shrugged. “Pretty sure, but if you remember let me know.”

Brother and sister watched Dean wander nonchalantly away. One with easily shrugged aside bewilderment, and the other with awed gratitude, respectfully. 

Jeffery Hart, the moment he’d realized that Shelly St. James was towing her federal agent little brother over toward Dean Campbell had two reactions. One was irrepressible curiosity to see how Dean handled the situation; and the other was panic because the kid would recognize Dean then they were all in a world of trouble probably ending in jail or death. 

As he watched the frankly odd (and that’s saying something, what with how his life’s been going lately) interaction between the young man and Dean, Jeffery’s panic was replaced by confusion. Though, like it always seemed to be with Dean, the curiosity was quickly overpowering it. 

He was just close enough to hear their conversation and Jeffery’s heart almost stopped when it sounded like Owen was going to recognize Dean. Then he just stopped. Dean had looked into the kid’s eyes for a split second and the conversation was diverted with such smooth efficiency Jeffery wouldn’t have even noticed had he not been paying such close attention. 

Then it got really strange. 

Dean kept up a completely normal conversation with the young man, but suddenly Jeffery was having a hard time understanding what he was doing with his hands. He could see them; left hand holding a half empty beer bottle, right hand released from the hand shake and now sitting in the front pocket of his jeans. He could see Dean’s hands, but they were hard to focus on. Like looking at an optical illusion. Jeffery glanced at the other two to see if they were having the same problem, but Shelly and Owen, standing not five feet from Dean, seemed to not have picked up on the weirdness going on right in front of them. 

Distracted from Dean’s hands for a moment, Jeffery got caught up in watching a barely noticeable change come over Owen. Earlier he’d vaguely observed that something painful had been weighing the young man down. Tense in his shoulders, pinched around the eyes, sleepless shadows across his face, polite but distant smile; now that each symptom was quickly disappearing one by one, they were glaring in their absence. 

All the while, Dean’s hands still had that fuzzy after image look to them as every sign of Owen’s trauma and grief were steadily and thoroughly worked away. Just as abruptly as Jeffery had noticed it starting, whatever it was, it was over and Dean was wiping the palms of his hands -right and suddenly empty left- off on his jeans. Owen looked like a healthy, unburdened young man again. 

Owen, it was obvious, could visibly feel the difference, but was not quite sure what had changed. Shelly on the other hand had watched the whole thing, and though not knowing _how_ or _what_ had happened, she knew that it was Dean that did it.

Jeffery watched the rest of the puzzling interaction, complete with what he could only assume was Dean healing an unseen injury that had Owen’s left shoulder losing that last bit of tension. He had to wonder just what Dean Winchester was. 

Monster hunter, childcare provider, friend of angels, enemy of demons; though those last two Jeffery had yet to reluctantly fully acknowledge were actually a thing. He was all of those things, but Jeffery remembered back to all the little clues here and there that hinted at Dean being _more_ than he let on. 

Of course some of Jeffery’s deep contemplation was interrupted by exasperation, because obviously Dean had to be a cheeky little asshole and get in one last thinly veiled taunt at a _federal agent_. 

Still, Jeffery was caught up watching Dean saunter back into the crowd and nearly jumped out of his skin when there was suddenly a presence beside him. 

“Marvelous, isn’t he?”

Forcefully calming his racing heart, he looked over at the tall, impeccably dressed business woman with perfectly styled hair and a look of reverence on her beautiful face as she watched Dean walk away too. 

“I’m sorry?” This was one of Dean’s mysterious friends he’d heard so much about from his kids, Emily and Justin. He hadn’t seen them show up, there had just suddenly been four extra strangely awkward people wandering around. 

“Dean Winchester,” the woman answered, like that was obvious. 

“Uh, yeah. But what do you mean?” Jeffery decided to not think about how she knew Dean’s real name. By then it should have been obvious to him that the four mysterious friends were pre-suburban retirement. 

“Dean is selfless, giving, and so very kind,” she answered with no little hint of what could possibly, if it wasn’t on the face of a fully grown woman in a power suit, _possibly_ be hero worship. “My brothers and sisters, and I have learned much of the goodness of humanity from Dean. He has had more patience, love, and concern for us than nearly all of the Host combined.”

Jeffery pointedly didn’t comment on the painful lack of discretion this woman –probably not an actual woman- was showing when talking about things people really shouldn’t be talking about when surrounded by blissfully ignorant civilians. 

“Do you know, he doesn’t realize it,” she went on oblivious to Jeffery’s nervous glancing around for listeners.

“Realize what?” He was almost reluctant, and yet really curious, to ask. 

“He doesn’t realize that he alone has the power to command us with unquestioning obedience,” she answered and the implications of that made Jeffery’s head swim a little. “He could command us, but we who have been in his presence, who have observed what and who Dean Winchester truly is, would follow him willingly, devotedly.” 

It’s then that Jeffery realizes that this conversation is so far above his paygrade it’s above everyone on Earth’s paygrade combined. 

“Why,” he croaked, “why are you telling me this?”

For the first time in their interaction, the woman turned her gaze on him and he saw something beautiful, ageless, and terrifying in her ordinary blue eyes. 

“Haven’t you realized yet?” she asked, honestly puzzled. “You’re a Witness.” 

Yeah… He has no idea what that means, all he knows is that it’s _Witness_ with a capital “w” and Jeffery’s so lightheaded he’s going to fall down if he doesn’t sit down. Luckily, he’s standing next to the drinks table so he leans hard against it as he works on suppressing his dizzy spell.

“What exactly does that me-” he cuts off because when he looks back up at the _woman_ – he’s not saying ang… nope not saying it- she’s gone. Disappeared as suddenly as she’d appeared and Jeffery’s pretty sure he’s ready to skip ulcer and move straight onto heart attack. 

*

TBC…


	2. Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of course he couldn’t just have one friendly neighborhood picnic without incident. It shouldn’t come as a surprise to him that it was gatecrashed by a massive dickbag with wings.

*

Forty-five minutes, three dropped hamburgers, two slightly T-rex munched little kid fingers, and fifteen different bewildering conversations between celestial beings older than dirt and suburban parents later the other shoe finally dropped. 

It started with a sudden change in air pressure, a slightly painful pop in the ears and a thinning of oxygen. The hairs on the back of their necks stood on end and static electricity tickled up their arms. Glancing around they looked to see who else had felt the change. 

Jeffery Hart, Ashley Boltz, and Lisa Braeden met each other’s eyes through the crowd of people around them. Each one of them felt their heart give a little lurch in alarm then they simultaneously looked to only person that would know exactly what was happening. 

Standing unmoving, a single fixed point of stillness in the ebb and flow of the amiable crowd around him, Dean Winchester was staring off to a far point on the other side of the open field of the park. 

As if in slow motion, the three adults in the know began weaving through the picnic goers, gravitating toward Dean. They realized that they were the only ones that seemed to have noticed anything was wrong. All the other adults around them were still sipping their drinks, chit-chatting, and milling around ignorant to the violent anticipation in the air. 

Drawn toward Dean, suddenly standing alone in the empty field, like he was a magnet Lisa, Jeffery, and Ashley were beyond thankful to see one of the angels herding the kids toward the t-rex pen protectively standing guard before them. Surprisingly it didn’t seem like the kids realized anything was happening. 

Time moved differently and in a few heartbeats the three were hovering on the very edge of the crowd. They were strangely reluctant to get any closer, so they stayed on the fringes. Jeffery and Ashley had their hands on their concealed weapons and Lisa was gripping a long serrated breadknife she hadn’t noticed herself picking up from the food table. 

Dean, in contrast, appeared completely unarmed. 

Then, ten yards in front of Dean, appeared ten people of various sizes, shapes, and colors. They were all unnaturally still with stony unmoving expressions on their faces; outwardly they seemed completely human except for the impossibly long, massive shadows they cast on the ground. 

Lisa shifted her grip uncertainly on her breadknife. Her mind flashed back to the night she’d been cornered in her house by a monster that looked like her son but wasn’t. She hadn’t been much help against that thing, and she didn’t know how much help she would be against what she was assuming were unfriendly angels. But her kid was in the crowd of people behind her and she was going to protect him with all the fury only a mother could muster. Breadknives may not do much to actually hurt angels, but she could sure as shit fuck them up a bit. 

Ashley Boltz was staring at the _things_ standing in formation before them. She wasn’t as hip deep in Dean Winchester’s world as her partner was, but she wasn’t an idiot. She didn’t become a detective by being unobservant. It wasn’t hard to figure out that it wasn’t just movie monsters that made up the shadowy world around them. Jeffery talked to her, confided his worries, fears, and let slip seemingly unimportant details about Winchester. She read between the lines, put two and two together, followed the clues, and came to the conclusion that all wasn’t black and white in the world of good and evil. Her gun wouldn’t have much effect against the things in front of her, but it was all she had and she’d make it work. 

Jeffery Hart eyed the formation of –yep, there was no more denying it; it was life or death now- of _angels_ before them. His gun wouldn’t be really effective in a fight with heavenly beings, he didn’t think, but he didn’t have time to ask Dean what would work against them. He’d just have to make do. The woman in the power suit’s words came back to him. Was this what she meant by “Witness”? He didn’t know. He did know that Dean Winchester was a good guy, possibly a great man, and the feeling of utter malice coming off those beings was a pretty reliable indicator that he had definitely picked the right side. 

Lisa, Jeffery, Ashley were ready and willing to die for the innocent people and children behind them, but that didn’t mean they didn’t feel immeasurable relief when three of Dean’s strange friends joined them. The teenager in a Weiner Hut uniform stationed himself a bit in front and between Ashley and Jeffery. The scruffy stoner came even with the teenager between Jeffery and Lisa. The perpetually disapproving librarian didn’t stop until she reached Dean’s right hand; a step behind him she stood ready at his side.

Dean had been in the middle of an argument about muscle cars with one of his kids’ dads when he felt them. Ten angels buzzed over the picnic and circled around like vultures. They weren’t angels just wanting to observe the strange and confounding ways of humans, they weren’t lost and looking for guidance, they hadn’t been sent by Castiel for some sort of lesson. 

No, these angels were filled with contempt. Hatred followed their flightpath like contrails. There was no yield, no give to the pattern of their thoughts. They were good little soldiers and they were following the last of their Father’s oldest sons. 

Dean was vaguely aware of unconsciously communicating that he wanted one of his angels to guard his kids; vaguely aware of Lisa, Jeff, and Ashley were drawn to follow him but stopped on the edge of the picnic forming a line with his angels. He was paying more attention to the ten hostile angels landing on the field ten yards in front of him. 

Ten of them all tall as skyscrapers, two-three-sometimes four pairs of wings scattered between them, different faces of God’s creatures, flaming rings; their bright, near blinding forms bared naked to his eyes. But the tenth one, positioned in a place of leadership in front and apart from them, utterly dwarfed its nine followers. 

Dean looked at that being of inconceivable power and, though the angel was in a different vessel, though he’d never seen its true form before, he knew exactly who it was. 

The angel was easily twice, probably three times the size of the Chrysler building. There was obviously some major reality bending, physics ignoring something going on just to fit it onto this tiny little neighborhood park. Its ten pairs of wings were all coast drowning hurricanes, city leveling typhoons, island destroying cyclones; lightning arched through them so strong it could turn whole swaths of beach sand into glass. 

The angel had ten faces, all of them creatures of legend and forgotten to history. Clustered around its blank human face was the head of a livyatan, the beast that inspired Moby-Dick, inspired the biblical leviathan. The face of a gigantopithecus, an ancient giant ape to give King Kong a run for his money, was right next to the scaly face of a snake so large as to be a veritable titan of its kind. A flat faced, cold eyed owl more than half the size of a man shared air with the much larger and viciously sharp toothed ancestor of the albatross. A mammoth with fur and tusks longer than a man is tall fell in line with a megalodon -four times the size of the infantile great white shark- and an ancient vulpine reminiscent of a sand fox. The tenth and last face was no less regal for its irony; a lethally sharp beaked sea turtle’s head rose independent of its skeletal shell.

It had ten golden, fiery rings. Four, like the rings of Jupiter, oscillated as they spun around its immeasurable torso. One ring each around its shoulder joints, one each around its elbow joints, and the last two around its neck. 

All in all, Dean thought as he took the sight in, for a teenage mutant ninja angel Raphael was a truly terrifying, awe-inspiring sight. 

He consciously let go of the vision of Raphael’s naked form and studied the angel’s vessel. A stiff business woman with smooth dark skin, large lips, and high cheekbones dressed in a charcoal skirt suit with a purple blouse, boring black heels, and plain gold jewelry. 

Dean couldn’t help grinning to himself. Dude looks like a lady!

“ _Dean Winchester_ ,” she called.

Her voice made the air tremble. The sound of a flutter next to him had Dean glancing over, surprised to see Rachel positioned a step to the right and behind him, her gale-force wings ruffled in agitation. Her angel blade was out and her frumpy librarian form was tensed to attack. Her wings were the only indication that she was anything other than utterly calm and confident.

Putting that interesting development aside for now, Dean turned back to the high and mighty gatecrasher. 

“That’s my name, don’t wear it out.”

Raphael’s face remained stony. “I have come to erase your blight from this Earth. To cleanse your influence from the teeming masses. To set us back on our rightful path to Paradise.” 

Translation: you ruined our sucky-ass plan and now we’re going to kill you and everyone you’ve ever met.

“You know, for an all-powerful ageless celestial being, you sure are a sore loser.” Dean had to work to keep his regular annoying, irreverent smirk on his face. He remembered what Raphael was like; a hurricane in a butterfly net. He remembered the gruesome splatter of Cas across Chuck’s walls. 

Her face didn’t even twitch. “Divine Prophesy is not some lowly game to be won and lost. It is a righteous inevitability.”

“Well,” Dean quirked an eyebrow at the angel, “from what I hear you sure are throwing a righteously impressive tantrum like your team just fumble the playoffs.” 

“Did Castiel tell you this?” Raphael asked condescending in her curiosity. “Tell me, where is Castiel? Why is he not coming to your rescue? Why has he only sent his most pitiful followers to protect you?”

Rachel, Inias, and Alfie’s combined hurt and indignation only added to the flames of Dean’s anger. 

“Okay, one: I have a feeling you got something to do with Cas’s hold up. And b: don’t talk about my angels like that. I’d take each one of them over you a hundred times or more.” His scowl would have given the most powerful of demons pause. 

Raphael just sneered at him. “Your angels? You, a writhing worm, have the impudence to lay claim to the likes of our Father’s great children?” Disgust dripped from her ten maws and puddled in the air between them. 

Turning her scathing gaze on Dean’s angels, “Have you so debased yourselves as to crawl before this flawed abortion,” she asked them, her words adding to the stinking puddle. “He is a broken, deformed thing and yet you kneel before him as you would our Father. Disgraceful!”

Dean’s angels drew swords, lifted wings, and readied their stance to launch an attack. Their sheer rage burned the air so hot even the humans could feel it. Not for the slights on them, would they attack thus, but for the grievous insult laid at Dean Winchester. Their friend. 

He felt their intent. Felt it like it was his own and knew each and every one of his angels would fight and die for him. They would kill their brothers and sisters to protect him. They would accept their inevitable deaths in this battle knowing that they were outmatched three to one and still they would gladly go to war for him. 

Alfie, Inias, Hester, and even Rachel, were devoted to him as they haven’t been to anything since their Father left heaven for parts unknown.

Dean remembered this feeling; the willingness of his friends to fight and die when he called. Never again. No, never ever again.

“Stop!” Whether it was an order for his angels or Raphael’s readied in response, it didn’t matter. Everything stopped on his word. 

Dean felt a still, cool calm fill him. It was the feeling he got in his gut when he promised death upon his enemies. 

Dean turned his blinding gaze on Raphael and looked her dead in her ten pairs of eyes. “You have outstayed your welcome. Like a three day old dead fish,” He told her, no humor in his expression despite his irreverent words. “Take your lackeys and fly back to your heavenly shit hole in the sky.”

He was shining bright enough to make it difficult for even the angels to look upon. Power was gathering inside him, and they all, angels and humans could feel it. 

Raphael didn’t care. She wasn’t afraid of this lower life form daring to even stand in her presence. 

“I will complete my task,” she responded. “I have come to smite you and all those touched by you from this Earth. You will not stop me.” 

“Try me.” Dean grinned like a baring of teeth. Absolute certainty trickled out of him. He knew no chance of failure. “I dare you.”

Raphael looked at the maggot before her with contempt. “So be it. To your death, Dean Winchester.”

Raphael’s words were their que and the other nine angels positioned their swords, shifted their stance, and lifted their wings to attack. 

Behind him Dean’s angels moved together like a well-oiled machine ready to meet their opponents in the air. Dean was getting an amplified surge of their determination. Their devotion to him. Every wavelength of their beings ready and willing to fight and die protecting him. 

Rachel, standing closer to him, gave him a louder taste of her feelings. Even her, who snipped and growled and glared at him, didn’t have even a ghost of hesitation at the certainty of laying down her life to protect him that day.

That’s not happening, Dean thought grimly. Never again. 

These people, kids, angels, and adults, were his and nothing, absolutely nothing was going to get at them while he still drew breath. Hell, even if he got ganked in the fight, it wouldn’t be the first time he came back to life meaner and madder than before. 

Nothing and no one, not even a jumped up teenage mutant ninja angel, was gonna stop him protecting what was his. 

The enemy angels flapped their wings as one and lifted a hair’s breadth off the ground. Dean’s angels followed suit a microsecond behind about to meet them head on and kill as many of them as they could. 

Their devotion still ringing through Dean, painfully beautiful, and he felt his own devotion to them answering back. 

And because he was Dean Winchester, he didn’t stop to wonder if he could do it, he just did it. 

Raphael’s nine dicks with wings dropped back to earth like lead weights, sticking in place like their feet were crazy glued. They tried to flap their wings, move their feet, but they were stuck tight, not going anywhere until Dean said so. 

Raphael frowned and looked back to find her lackeys grounded. “Don’t disobey me! Attack him!”

“No can do, Raph,” Dean answered for them. “Seems their wings’ been clipped.” 

Spinning back to him, Raphael lost that detached superior look of righteousness. She glared murderously, but Dean caught a flash of confusion. “No matter. I will kill you myself.”

Her sword was in her hand and she leaped forward. 

“Don’t move!” Dean commanded, wielding his mystery power purely by instinct.

Her vessel’s professional black heels never fully left the ground because Raphael was suddenly frozen mid-action, one toe still on the grass. Her sword was frozen at the top of a downward swing that would have bisected Dean straight down the center if he hadn’t red lighted her. 

He didn’t really know quite how far these nifty new powers of his went so he added a little more juice into holding her than into the other angels. Raphael was an Archangel after all. They were supposed to be the most badass of all God’s badly behaved children.

Every angel, dicks with wings and nerdy little dudes, looked on in shock. The vibes coming off Dean’s angels were of awe and pride while Raphael’s minions just leaked fear and confusion all over. Raphael, of course, looked like she was waffling between wanting to smite him into oblivion and rending him limb from limb bare handed. 

Dean though, being the observant man that he was, could see beneath the violence. She was scared, but didn’t seem quite so confused as her brainwashed followers. Instead there was slowly dawning horror. 

“It seems I’ve got you by the short and curlies, now.” Dean grinned darkly, reveling in the enraged irritation wafting off the head bitch with wings. “You come into my park, on the day of my neighborhood picnic and you think you can just threaten me and mine?” 

Raphael didn’t seem to like Dean’s mockery all that much. She put an enormous burst of power into breaking his hold on her. It didn’t work. 

Dean scowled, annoyed and unimpressed. 

Though to human eyes her vessel was still frozen midair, every angel present watched in 3D, high def., technicolor as Dean grabbed the Archangel Raphael by her ten pairs of terrible force of nature wings, gave her a rough shake, and shoved her to the ground like she was a naughty puppy.

“I said, ‘Don’t move,’” Dean barked through bared, gritted teeth. 

He had to put some concentration into holding Raphael to the ground. She was an Archangel and Dean was so new to purposely using his newfangled heavenly powers. He was crossing his fingers that his instincts would be enough to get them all through this alive.

A fine tremor went through the earth. And a fine tremor went through the angels. It was incomprehensible to them that an outwardly unremarkable human could dominate the last of the great Archangels so thoroughly and, seemingly, with such ease. 

“Like I said,” Dean growled at Raphael, who was showing some real terror now. The eyes of her faces were rolling and wild in their sockets. “You come down here and insult and threaten me and mine. I don’t appreciate being insulted and I’m sure you remember what’s happened to every asshole that’s threatened what’s mine.”

Raphael’s, vessel and true form’s, mouths still held immobile, didn’t respond, but the shudder that rippled through her wavelengths of intent spoke volumes to the witnessing angels. 

Dean, though, could intimately feel her fear, her rage, her barely contained panic like it was scraping across his skin. It felt a bit like a cheese grater, so far from the pleasant, natural hum he got from his nerdy little angels. 

He didn’t raise his voice, but still the air shook. “Now, I’m only gonna to tell you this once. After I dropkick you back up to the fluffy little clouds you came from if I see you down here again I’ll shank you with your own blade.” 

Raphael had rallied her emotions mostly back into her control, but she didn’t get a chance to respond, to voice her impotent furry or vow vengeance. The feelings were boiling through her entire unfathomable being mixing ugly with her rare fear. Dean just used his powerful grip on her wings and flung her unceremoniously upwards. 

In a blink Raphael vanished from Earth, vessel and all. 

Then, because this was Dean Winchester’s life and nothing could ever go off without a hitch, since he was no longer concentrating on holding onto the teenage mutant ninja angel his body suddenly felt like a limp noodle. 

So, apparently smacking an Archangel on the nose with a divine rolled up newspaper will pretty much drain his batteries. Good to know. 

Dean just noticed that the nine unfriendly angels were still hanging around even though he’s pretty sure he wasn’t still duck taping them to the ground. Then his knees gave out and Rachel grabbed him by the waist propping him upright against her side.

“Well, that was fun. Let’s not do that again.”

“You, Dean Winchester,” Rachel said, voice filled half with immeasurable awe, half exasperation, “are more awesome than anything we angels have seen in millennia.”

She said awesome the way it was originally intended, but Dean had gotten used to the uncomfortable allusions associated with his strange metamorphosis. It didn’t freak him out like it used to. That and he was too exhausted to worry about it right then. 

“That’s nice. I think I’d like to sit down now,” he mumbled dozily. 

“There are still Raphael’s followers to deal with,” Inias said. He and Alfie had broken the line and stepped up to where Dean and Rachel were still standing. 

The reminder of a threat, lesser but still dangerous, gave Dean a little burst of energy so he could at least stand by himself. With a little help from Alfie’s hand on his back, that is, but the enemy angels couldn’t see that so it didn’t matter. 

“Right,” Dean leveled dangerous glare on the dicks with wings. He didn’t have any mojo left to shoot them back home, but maybe he’d scared them enough to jet on their own. 

“I thought I just kicked your leader back up to Heaven. Why are you still here?”

The nine angels shifted nervously. Dean could only just barely see shadows of their true forms, but their human vessel’s body language translated their apprehension just fine. 

After a long pause of silent communication, one of the angels, a tiny ballerina in ballet slippers and a functional black leotard, stepped forward. 

“Raphael is strong and righteous,” she said, apparently speaking for the whole group. “She wishes to finally complete God’s plan for this world. She has said that because our Father has left us, it is now our duty to carry out His orders, long have they been set in stone.”

The words coming from the angel, through her high-pitched girly voice, should have sounded like rhetoric, like an impassioned speech given with blind faith. Instead, all Dean could hear was confusion, bewildered and sad. 

“The imprisonment of Michael and Lucifer, the halt of the Apocalypse, was an awful flouting of our Father’s plan. Our mission to continue His will should be an act of divine will. Blessed.” She paused and looked as though her next words physically pained her. Not in a grudging, reluctant way, but in a scared and full of dread way.

“If this is so, then why are you, Dean Winchester, the one that destroyed God’s plan, filled with divine power?”

That, Dean thought, was a very good question. He wanted to answer that it was just his rotten luck, that he couldn’t have nice things, that he was cursed. But her question was genuine, spoken in pain and fear. She and her comrades had witnessed something that by their understanding and beliefs shouldn’t be possible. What they witnessed tore the ground from beneath their feet and ripped them out of the sky. Their world as they knew it had been shook up and tossed around. 

They were lost and Dean couldn’t leave them that way anymore than he could his own nerdy angels. 

“I don’t know why I’ve suddenly got these powers,” Dean told the angels looking to him, whether they realized it or not, for guidance. “I don’t know what your dad intended to happen way back when he supposedly wrote up these plans. But I do know that saving billions of lives, lives that you said yourself were a created by your Father, was the right thing to do.”

The angels were listening to him raptly. Dean wasn’t sure if he was giving them what they needed, helping them the way they needed it, his mojo was too weak to get a peek in at their feelings. But some of the desolate lost look had eased up, so he figured he was on the right track. 

“There’s the whole big deal about God giving us humans Free Will, right?” he continued, just going with his gut. It hadn’t steered him wrong yet. “His end the world, give you paradise plan was supposed to literally be set in stone. No way it could go wrong because God himself wouldn’t let it. Well, it got pretty thoroughly derailed so maybe He wanted it that way.”

Dean watched the incomprehension on their faces, but he could tell that he was at least making them think.

“Maybe He let the plan fail so you would have to make your own. Maybe He wanted to give you the Free Will to make your own decisions.”

The silence was only broken by the unnaturally distant sounds of chatter from the picnic still going undisturbed behind them. Dean watched each angel take in his words, mull them over, examine them. Two or three of them seemed almost angry, but the rest were a mix of scared, puzzled, and thoughtful. He still couldn’t feel them, but Dean knew that he’d gotten through to at least a couple of them. 

Finally the ballerina’s attention was back on Dean and she gave him a regal nod. “Thank you, Dean Winchester,” she said with a surprising amount of respect. “Your wisdom has not fallen on deaf ears. Goodbye.”

They disappeared and Dean let his head fall back tiredly. Well, he couldn’t really ignore it anymore. He was, in fact, the angel whisperer. All joking aside, it actually terrified him a little that his words carried so much weight with beings older than the Earth itself. Terrified him like when he found out the angels had been ordered to follow his orders when he and Sam had been trying to stop the raising of Samhain.

“Oh my god, Dean!” 

Lifting his head, Dean used Rachel and Alfie as crutches/leverage to turn and look at the three confused and shaken humans behind him. 

Lisa was still white knuckling the bread knife and she was pretty sure she’d have to pry it out of her hand with pliers, but she couldn’t think about that when she’d just watched her ex-boyfriend/roommate/babysitter send ten angels running with their tails between their legs. Just by talking to them.

“What the hell was that?” she demanded shrilly.

“I think I’m gonna be sick.” Jeffery bent over with his hands on his knees face ashy grey. Ashley hurried over and forced his head between his knees. 

“I don’t wanna know. I really don’t wanna know,” Ashley chanted while rubbing her partner’s back as he dry heaved. “But I think you better tell us what the fuck that was, because I’m pretty sure we almost all got killed and I’d kinda like to know why.”

Inias had disappeared back into the picnic crowd to relieve and brief Hester. Alfie had flown back to Heaven to discover why Cas had been a no-show. Because he sure as shit would have been down here facing off against Raphael himself if he’d known what the fuck was happening. 

That left Dean with just Rachel for support. Which she offered for no other reason than to keep him from falling face first into the grass. 

“Yeah, okay.” Dean blew out a deep breath and nodded. “Let me sit down, eat some protein, and drink some water then we can shut down the picnic and head back to Lisa’s. Sound good?”

It was the best they were going to get and they knew it. So an hour later, Dean, still leaning on Rachel for balance though he wasn’t in danger of passing out anymore, stood in front of the three angry, curious, demanding people. 

“Alright, uh.” Dean shifted awkwardly and rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, it’s kind of a long story.”

Jeffery, having recovered from his panic attack, was looking at Dean with a stern, expectant seriousness that he only used when he was questioning a suspect. Dean didn’t get his back up about it though, because they were owed this explanation and he was the only one that could give it to them. 

Ben, Errol, Justin, and Emily had all been sent up to Ben’s room with strict instructions to play in there and to give the adults some privacy. Said privacy was enforced by some angel mojo Rachel had sprinkled around. 

Little ears squared away, Dean didn’t even try to stall. He started at the Rise of the Witnesses and, though heavily edited, told the tale of the Apocalypse all the way up to Sam’s Fall and the end of the End of Everything. 

“So,” Ashley drawled into the ensuing silence. “Vampires are real?”

“Really?” Dean looked at her incredulously. “You just got the low down on demons, angels, and the apocalypse, but vampires are what you get stuck on.”

“Hey, give me a break!” Ashley glared at him defensively. “I just got the low down on demons, angels, and the apocalypse. It’s gonna take me a few minutes to process.”

Lisa just rubbed at her temples like she had a headache. Actually, no, she did have a headache. “And I thought your life was shitty before this,” she scoffed, “but everything just makes so much more sense now.” 

Dean gave her a serious look from the armchair Rachel had shoved him into halfway through the story. “Lisa, if you need me to-”

“Shut up, Dean,” she scowled at him. “You’re not going anywhere. It’d break Ben’s heart and I’ve gotten used to your cooking. We’d probably starve now if you left.”

He had been getting used to that disgustingly warm squishy feeling since he came to suburbia, but Dean was still a little surprised at the sudden intensity of it. Affection for this woman who had become his best friend welled up inside him. 

“Alright, fine.” He smiled at her and to everyone in the room it was like the sun had just brightened in the sky. “I guess I’ll stick around.” 

Lisa scoffed again, but didn’t respond.

The only one that hadn’t said anything yet was Jeffery Hart. He’d spent the entirety of Dean’s story listening carefully, analyzing details and connecting clues. Even with everything he already knew about Dean’s world his mind still should have been blown by this influx of crazy, but for once it wasn’t. The story of death and hope and despair and bittersweet victory didn’t come as much of a surprise to him as he thought it would. 

Jeffery realized that now that he finally had all the facts, all the pertinent details that had since eluded him, every single instinct and gut feeling he’d had about Dean Winchester were completely justified. Dean was a good guy. He was a great man. He’d saved the world and would do it again without a single hesitation. 

By all rights Jeffery should literally be feeling his ulcers bursting, his lungs squeezing in a panic attack, his head spinning, but he didn’t. He felt completely and utterly calm. He was confident once again in his instincts, abilities, and his view of the world. Jeffery finally understood his role in this new reality. 

He thinks he understands what it means to be a Witness. 

“Jeff?”

Turning his attention back on the room, Jeffery looked up to see Dean watching him with a carefully blank expression. 

“You’ve been pretty quiet so far.”

Jeffery is Dean’s friend and he likes to think he knows the man pretty well, so he saw the nervousness in Dean’s otherwise unreadable gaze.

He thought about the young man that had Friday night beers with him at the local cop bar despite his chronic phobia of law enforcement; trading stories, and laughing, and unwinding after a hard days. He thought about the hours Dean let him rant and complain and grieve the ending of his already rocky marriage; thought about how Dean would console him. He thought about the care and attention and love Dean showed the children in his responsibility. He thought about the mischievous curve of his grin, the irreverence in his speech, his utterly instinctual need to protect. 

“I’m thankful that you’re alive,” Jeffery said because really that was the most important thing he wanted say. “And I’m glad I can be your friend,” he continued before Dean could form any kind of response. “I can honestly say that my life would be a miserable dark place if I hadn’t met you.”

If he was aware that his words had just obliterated several layers of Dean’s insecurity, negative self-worth, and inadequacy issues Jeffery didn’t show it. 

Heart beating loudly in his ears, Dean felt a little out of his depth. Jeff was not reacting to this conversation the way he expected and Dean was struggling to make sense of it. 

“That’s all you gotta say?” he pressed, not willing to just accept good things. He was Dean Winchester, he didn’t get good things. “I just told you that I was neck deep in the end of the world and there’s an Archangel that wants to jumpstart it all over again. And you’re not even worried about that?”

Blissfully calm for the first time in months, Jeffery just shrugged. Standing up, he grabbed his jacket from the back his chair and shrugged it on. 

“Not really. From what you told us it sounds like your angel friend Castiel has it under control.” Jeffery stopped by Dean’s chair on his way to the front door. He squeezed Dean’s tense shoulder in a warm, comforting gesture. “And if this Raphael character gets out of hand, you’ll take care of it. After all,” he grinned at Dean’s open mouthed incomprehension, “you stopped the Apocalypse. One little speciesist asshole should be no problem for you.”

He released Dean’s should and continued on his way to the front door, stopping by the stairs to shout for his kids. When the sound of Justin and Emily thundering down the stairs came through Rachel’s angel mojo, Jeffery looked back to the group watching him with shocked faces. 

“Ashley, you need a ride?” he offered nonchalantly, like nothing momentous had happened that day at all. 

“Uh,” the young woman looked at the others’ bewildered expressions then shrugged. If Jeff wasn’t worried, Ashley didn’t see any reason she should. After all, he’d had more experience with this shit that she had. She stood up, grabbing her jacket as well. “Yeah, sure. I could use a ride.”

The front door closed behind them plunging Dean, Lisa and a mildly annoyed Rachel into a tense silence. 

There was a long moment before Lisa finally just sighed completely done with the whole situation. “You’d think the yoga instructor would be way more Zen about this crap than the middle aged cop.” 

“What the hell?” Dean suddenly burst out. He had no idea what just happened, because there was no way in hell that people just took all the crap he’d dumped on them and shrugged it off. No way, that anyone had enough confidence in his ability to protect them to just _shrug it off_. No one, not since Sammy became Sam, believed in him like that. No one had that kind of unquestioning faith in him. 

“No, seriously! What the hell?”

“Dean.”

He looked at Lisa, eyes wide and still completely confused. “Yeah?”

“Shut up.” She stood and smacked him lightly on the back of the head on her way past. “I’m gonna go take a bubble bath and drink a bottle of wine. Don’t talk to me until morning.”

And with that she disappeared too, leaving a petulantly scowling Dean and a now mildly amused Rachel behind.

Dean was still frowning and turning the last thirty minutes over and over in his head trying to make sense of it when Rachel spoke up for the first time. 

“Is it so puzzling,” she asked curiously, “that people believe in you?”

“Yeah, actually it is,” Dean huffed at her. 

“Why?” she asked, “If we angels would follow you into battle out of love and devotion, why is it hard to believe that humans can feel for you the same way?”

That made Dean look at her. Really look at her since before Raphael had gatecrashed the picnic. 

Now that he wasn’t sucking fumes, Dean was starting to get a feel for her again. His power, whatever it was, was slowly recharging and he had a low volume channel into her emotions. Muted though they were to his ears, they were still burning fierce and bright inside her. 

She had faith in him, felt safe with him; felt understood. Her devotion, while now almost hidden under annoyance and her perpetual slight irritation, was no less beautiful than her brothers’ and sister’s. She was filled with awe of him and had faith, unwavering faith in him. 

A soft smile curved over his lips and Dean gazed at Rachel in all her frumpy angry librarian glory. He could just see her true form superimposing over her vessel, so alien to each other, but to him her expression was plain as day on both.

“You know what,” he said and reached to bridge the distance between them wrapping a gentle hand around her wrist, “you’re right. It’s not so hard to believe after all.” 

He didn’t think Rachel would have let herself feel it if she knew Dean could see the way showing his acceptance and gratitude with physical contact made her positively light up. They stayed that way for a long comforting moment. Rachel letting herself soak up the attention and care from Dean Winchester. Dean studying her down to the molecules to familiarizing himself with the kind of a person she was in the way he already knew his other nerdy angels. 

Well, he thought wryly while squeezing Rachel’s wrist gently, guess he was gonna have to own it now. Angel Whisperer and wielder of mysterious heavenly powers. Hopefully sometime soon someone will figure out what exactly was going on with him because next time he had to go head to head with an almost omnipotent ageless douchebag with wings he wanted to know his limits. 

*

End.


End file.
